


You Hit What You Head For

by averita



Category: The Closer
Genre: F/F, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/pseuds/averita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn’t sting so much that she doesn’t consider them to be friends. It shouldn’t make her chest ache when Brenda herself didn’t know that <i>she</i> wanted it until Sharon had treated the idea like the most ridiculous thing in the world. (Set during/immediately after Living Proof.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Hit What You Head For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parcequelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/gifts).



> Written for parcequelle for the Femslash Exchange 2014 Challenge! She mentioned that she liked the "sort-of friends situation from season six onwards", which I also adore, so I hope that this fits the bill. Title is from "Falling Is Like This" by Ani DiFranco.

Brenda’s cases tend to begin with dead bodies, and thus rarely have happy endings. She supposes that there is a certain sweetness to be found in this one, though,with a terrorist in jail and a new family born from the ashes of the two that have been torn apart. Brenda has always liked sweet things, and it’s Christmas, so this is what she tries to focus on rather than the heavy bitterness that still lingers. 

It’s not hard - not with her family here, and her team, and even Sharon Raydor all sitting around a table her mother has decorated and covered with more food than any of them will be able to eat. The marshmallows are burnt, but what she doesn’t mention is that they’re delicious, like s’mores, and that they melt in her mouth and leave sugar clinging to her lips. 

There’s not usually a lot of laughter in this room, but today it’s full of it. Mama chastises Lt. Provenza’s table manners as Lts. Flynn and Sanchez egg her on; Daddy solemnly tells a bewildered Chief Taylor all about the hooligans who broke into their RV and offers suggestions for Neighborhood Watch programs. Sgt. Gabriel coaxes Raydor into what looks like a surprisingly friendly conversation, one that allows her to sit a little less stiffly in her chair. 

It’s nice, for a little while, to not be the Chief with these people. 

Lt. Tao leaves first, eager to get to his family, and Taylor soon after. Provenza, clearly having reached his limit of social interaction, drags a more reluctant Lt. Flynn from the party; he bids them goodbye with a cheerful wave. Then Pope, Buzz, and Sanchez - before long, the table her mother had so painstakingly decorated is empty, and Brenda finds herself pouring another glass of wine. The end of the holidays always leaves Brenda a little melancholy.

Sgt. Gabriel remains - his new flight won’t be leaving until tomorrow, and he settles at his desk to begin the mountain of paperwork this case has left them with. Brenda doesn’t want to think about that yet, so she turns to her mother, who’s begun to clear the table.

“Let me help you clean up, Mama,” she offers, but her mother simply shoos her away. 

“You’ll just get in my way,” she says, shooting a pointed look to where Daddy is sitting in the corner - he looks back at her with wide, innocent eyes. “Why don’t you go find Sharon? I don’t know where she went, but she wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.” 

It’s very like her mother, to be so sure in her impression of someone she’d only just met, but Brenda doesn’t bother to correct her. She merely smiles, swallows her last sip of wine, and snags a leftover brownie from the table before wandering off.

She wanders aimlessly at first, and so is surprised when she does, in fact, find Sharon in one of the briefing rooms, leaning back in her chair with a phone pressed to her ear. After a moment, she realizes that she shouldn’t be - she’d forgotten, but it’s very like her mother to be _right_ in her impressions of people, as well. 

“Oh! Sorry,” she apologizes, realizing even as she’s saying it that the other woman hadn’t registered her presence until she’d spoken; blushing, she turns to leave, hesitating only when Sharon gestures for her to come in and mouths “just a second”.

It’s not eavesdropping, but it feels like it. “I’ve got to go,” Sharon says into the phone. “Tell Emily I’ll talk to her tonight.” Her voice is softer than Brenda’s used to. She’s not sure she likes it. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Your kids?” Brenda asks nonchalantly when Sharon hangs up a moment later.

Sharon nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “My son, yes.” Her voice is a little hoarse, and she clears her throat. “That was a lovely dinner. Your mother sets quite a table.” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but it’s less sarcastic than Brenda is used to seeing. “I’m beginning to understand where you get your tenacity.”

Well, ‘tenacity’ sounds like a fancy word for ‘stubbornness’ to Brenda, but in the spirit of Christmas she leaves it be. “She likes you,” she says instead, sitting in a chair a few seats over. “She says that if you’re ever in Atlanta you should come visit.” Sharon laughs, the sound more genuine and amused than Brenda has ever heard from her, and raises an eyebrow.

“That’s very kind of her,” she says. “Perhaps I’ll take her up on it. I’m sure it would be...enlightening.”

Brenda can’t tell whether or not that’s supposed to be a threat, and so is silent for a long moment. Sharon doesn’t say anything, either. She looks tired. Brenda isn’t sure when she began to think of her as “Sharon” but she suspects it was probably before today. 

_Sharon_. She’ll have to work on that. It’s better than “my Captain Raydor”.

“I’m sorry your vacation plans fell through,” she finally says, and Sharon hums a little.

“Yes, well,” she says, “as much as I hate to say it, it wasn’t your fault.” She pauses, a glint appearing in her eye, one that Brenda is very glad isn’t directed at her. “Chief Pope, on the other hand…anyway, I’m heading up tomorrow. We’ll just do Christmas a little late.”

Belatedly, Brenda realizes that this is turning into the sort of personal conversation that she endeavors to avoid, especially here at work. Somehow it doesn’t seem so terrible. The captain is a little less sharp around the edges, and perhaps it’s that, rather than the wine she had with dinner, that gives her the courage to blurt out, “Do you think we’re friends?” 

Sharon’s eyes lose their glazed look and focus on her in bewilderment. “What?” 

Internally, Brenda winces. “Just - you seemed to think it was so funny earlier. But it’s not like we don’t - I mean, we’re doing better now. Than we were. We could be friends, right?” She’s babbling, and presses her lips tightly together before she makes it worse. 

Sharon’s perfectly-groomed eyebrows are climbing steadily higher. “I would have thought that that’s the last thing you’d want,” she finally responds, her words sounding careful and measured the way they do sometimes, when she’s thinking hard or trying to make a point. 

Maybe she’s right. Sharon makes her crazy in a way that no one has in a long time, makes her blood boil and her hands flap like a child, makes her lose control of her thoughts and say crazy stupid things that don’t make any sense. And maybe they go about it different ways, maybe it doesn’t always show, but Brenda prides herself on being every bit as in-control as Captain Sharon Raydor. 

When they’re in the same room, though, that control slips away, and Brenda hates losing it as much as she enjoys ebbing away at the Captain’s own seemingly-endless reserves. 

“I like your friend,” Daddy had said at dinner, watching in amusement as Sharon shut down some thoughtless comment or other from Chief Pope without batting an eye. “It’s good for you to have someone like her around.” 

“What do you mean?” Brenda had asked in a low voice, curious despite herself. Daddy had shrugged, his eyes soft.

“Someone who will knock some sense into you when you need it,” he said. “She doesn’t look like she puts up with much bullcrap. Those are good people to have on your side. They keep you focused on the right things.”

She’s not sure that’s true. Sharon puts up with all sorts of nonsense day in and day out. She spends her days investigating the good guys, and she tried to make her the Chief of Police, for goodness sake. Her priorities are suspect, to say the least, and her judgment possibly even worse, so it shouldn’t sting so much that she doesn’t consider them to be friends. It shouldn’t make her chest ache when Brenda herself didn’t know that _she_ wanted it until Sharon had treated the idea like the most ridiculous thing in the world.

 _Oh_ , this woman. 

“It just doesn’t seem crazy anymore, is all,” she replies at last, hoping she sounds offhanded and suspecting that she fails miserably. 

Sharon nods slowly. “No, perhaps not,” she agrees. “Okay, then.” 

This, Brenda thinks, is why she doesn’t like personal conversations. Her heart is in her throat and pumping like she’s just fired a gun. If only Sharon were a murderer - at least with them, she’s on the right side of the interrogation table, and she’s able to read them and break them in half. “Okay what?”

“Just okay,” Sharon says, smiling a little. “Friends. I’d like that.” She offers her hand, very formally, and it’s such a ridiculous and _Sharon_ gesture that Brenda would laugh if Sharon’s smile wasn’t so strangely sad. 

She doesn’t know why this suddenly feels so wrong, why her stomach is tight and she aches with a want that she can’t put a name to - she only knows that when she extends her arm it feels like sealing a deal, one where they’ve both compromised and accepted less than what they deserve. 

Sharon’s hand is warm and soft in her own, and she doesn’t want to let go.


End file.
